The Fan Fiction Factory
by ElegantGhost
Summary: What if Bones and Jim were aware of the fan fiction being written about them? What if they visited the factory of writers... and storylines began affecting them?


_Disclaimer: I own no part of Star Trek: 2009. This is all in good fun._

_Yes, even I get tired of writing Hurt!Jim now and then. So I wanted to take a break from Visions of Sleep and write this humorous one-shot. Enjoy._

* * *

"Do we have to do this every week?" Bones grumbled, reluctantly following Jim to the doors of the factory. He wasn't in the best mood after the starship voyage to earth had taken him away from a medical conference on New Vulcan.

"They're our _fans_," Jim said pointedly, grabbing the door handle. "They love us. They think we're a stand-up pair. The least we can do is show up every now and then to show our support."

"I'd rather support them in other ways. Leave a detailed review. Follow a story or two." Bones caught up with him. "They're always too engrossed in writing to look up anyway. What's the point of visiting if they ignore us?"

Jim smiled. "You always say that, but I'm convinced our presence is responsible for the inspiration they credit themselves for. And as long as the stories get written, who cares if they notice us in the room?" He opened the door.

Bones sighed as he looked down the familiar rows of writers in a warehouse-sized room. Most of them were hunched over and typing away furiously on computers of all shapes and sizes. Some were writing in longhand on yellow tablets or in composition notebooks. They were sitting in chairs of all types, ranging from wooden, to upholstered, to plush recliners.

Jim raised his arms in appreciation and turned to give Bones a smug look. "You see? The moment we arrive, they're all typing as if their lives depend on it. It's our presence-" He stopped talking as he noticed a boy falling asleep at his computer.

Uh-oh. Whenever Jim interacted with the writers, things began to go haywire.

"Hey," Jim said, walking over to the boy. The boy didn't seem to notice. His eyes closed and his head lolled forward. Jim bent down to yell in the boy's ear. "Hey! The story isn't finished yet!" His eyes moved to the screen. "You've trapped me in an ice cave, with no way out. I could freeze to death in the time it takes you to wake up. Wake up!"

The boy's head abruptly snapped up and he began typing once more.

"Give the kid a break," Bones intervened, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Look at his clothes – the kid is from Japan. It's around three in the morning there."

"One night without sleep won't kill him," Jim protested. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked down the closest row of writers. As he did so, something strange began to happen.

His uniform tore down the back, revealing the lashes of a whip. Blood began running down the back of his neck from a cut. His fingernails turned dirty and ragged.

Jim didn't seem to notice his declining condition, strolling as if he were walking through a park.

Damn.

"Wait up," Bones called. He hurried after Jim, feeling the weight of a medical bag mysteriously appear over his shoulder. Every single time they visited the factory…

"What's up?" Jim turned. Bones couldn't help but grimace. The man's face was barely recognizable. Broken nose, missing teeth, split lips, fractured eye socket… it was a good thing he stopped walking, or the injuries would've continued to accumulate.

Jim eyed the medical bag as Bones drew closer. He frowned. "Not again?"

"Yes, again," Bones snapped. "You wandered through the Hurt/Comfort section without paying attention." He opened the medical sack and removed a hypospray. "How many times do I have to tell you to watch where you walk when we're in here?"

Jim gasped in pain when the first hypospray was administered. "Hurt/Comfort writers need inspiration too, Bones. And- ugh." He rubbed his neck. "Why do you always need to stick me with those things? Whatever happened to good old fashioned bandages like the ones you wrapped my hand in?"

Bones peered into the bag. Truth be told, the writers rarely gave him anything else to work with. There were at least a dozen hyposprays, all to heal different ailments. And nothing else.

He meant to explain this as he brought out another hypospray, but all he could say was, "Damn it, Jim."

"Damn _what_?" Jim wanted to know as the needle went in. "You always say that, but you never explain what it means. Damn the world, damn your life, damn everything, damn the situation…"

_All of the above_, Bones tried to say. But again, all that came out was, "Damn it, Jim." He rolled his eyes at his own words. He would be on repeat until they left the Hurt/Comfort section. Once he got started, it was impossible to stop. Like a broken record.

"Damn it, Jim."

Jim's eyes began to shimmer with tears as he took several steps back. His physical injuries disappeared.

Oh, geez. Here it comes.

"Why are you always so mean?" His tears overflowed and ran down his face. "I have feelings, you know. I'm not just a pillar of strength. I was nearly killed on Tarsus IV, beaten by my stepdad Frank, my brother Sam ran off, and I have terrible nightmares about all of it! I have a lot of personal things I'm trying to deal with right now. I don't need you snapping at me."

Bones steeled himself before taking several steps closer to Jim. The medical bag disappeared. Ah, now he felt it. The Angst section.

"Relax, Jim," he was finally able to say. "None of that was in the movie." Pause. "Hell, some of it wasn't even in the Original Series."

Jim sniffed. "There's a series?"

Oops.

"My point is," Bones continued, as if the question had never been asked. "You're stressed over nothing. Wallowing in childhood issues from another fandom…" He shifted awkwardly as the writers around them continued typing away. "You want a hug or something?"

Jim looked hopeful. "You mind?"

"Come here, kid." His arms opened seemingly of their own afford.

Jim leapt forward and embraced him, sighing with content. "You're a great friend, Bones."

"You too, Jim. We'll make it through, huh, kid? We've made it this far-" Bones suddenly stopped talking as he again realized where they were. Stiffening, he peeled himself away from Jim and gruffly added, "And we're in a damn factory anyway, so there's nothing to worry about. Be a man. Pull it together."

Bones walked to the end of the row, shaking his head to rid himself of the emotions invoked by the writers. He needed to put some distance between them.

Every single visit was a roller coaster ride, but no, Jim said they had to inspire the writers. So they did. At the expense of personal health, pride, free will…

Bones was so busy thinking that he didn't realize he'd wandered into the Romance section until a waft of cologne hit him full in the face. Oh, no.

_Jim, stay back, _he meant to warn the man. But his coughing fit made that impossible. He could only hold up a hand and hope Jim understood his meaning.

He didn't. The damn fool blindly followed him, covering his nose when he too walked right into the cloud of cologne. "Ugh," he gasped. "What's that smell? Tell me we aren't where I think we are."

"Sorry," Bones muttered when his coughing was under control. "Wasn't paying attention." He felt himself flush with embarrassment. What man flushed with embarrassment anyway? He eyed the writers, shooting daggers with his eyes. But it was ineffective. They didn't even notice him.

Jim held up his hands, refusing to take one step closer to Bones. They were on thin ice as it was, the two of them in this section together.

"I'm into women," he stated plainly, as if trying to remind himself.

"So am I," Bones shot back. He tried to ignore the wave of affection he suddenly felt for the man. "I have an ex-wife, you know. And lots of people think me and Nurse Chapel might have a shot."

"I've slept with lots of women," Jim retorted, but his words held less conviction than before. "Almost every weekend after bar hopping… I think. And there was that one chick, Gaila."

"Whom you never actually slept with in the movie," Bones reminded him, stepping forward.

"It was _implied_. And I flirted shamelessly with Uhura and your sickbay nurses, didn't I?" Jim was breathless now and drawing closer to Bones.

Bones found himself torn, wanting to move closer to Jim and also wanting to back away. It wasn't entirely unheard of for friendships to turn into something stronger… and the expression "in the closet" was a popular term, wasn't it?

He shook his head, but his feet kept moving forward. Soon, he and Jim were less than a foot apart. No, no, no… but his head was moving in for a kiss-

Jim slapped him.

Bones jerked his head back, sputtering, "What the hell was that for?"

"Why didn't you tell me you've slept with Spock?"

_"What?"_

Jim crossed his arms. "I know all about it, all right? I _saw _everything when we melded. I was hurt and he was trying to pull a face from my memories, when I saw flashes of you two-"

"That never happened, Jim!"

Jim gestured to their close proximity. "_This _never happened either. But it is!"

"Let's just leave this section then!" Bones yelled.

"Fine!"

_"Fine!" _Bones huffed and tried to walk away, but Jim followed him, grabbing one of his arms and pulling him back. It was by sheer luck that a phaser beam had them diving for cover at the moment their lips would've met.

Bones grunted in pain as he hit the factory floor. Any feelings of unrequited love were replaced with a surge of adrenaline. He scrambled behind the nearest recliner. Ouch. His hip felt like it was on fire.

"Bones, you all right?" Jim yelled from behind another recliner. The typing sounds around them were nearly muted against the continuous phaser beams flying their way and an explosion somewhere in the distance.

"What the hell is wrong with these writers?" Bones yelled back. He reached for the phaser that had appeared in a holster at his waist. "Can't they see they're killing us? I thought they were our fans!"

"This is the Adventure section!" Jim answered. He paused long enough to shoot his phaser in the general direction of hostile fire. "They want to make heroes out of us, that's all!"

"Damn it, Jim! I'm a doctor, not a marksman!"

Jim belly-crawled to where Bones was kneeling, an insane little smile on his face. The kid must have been loving every minute of this section. It was what he thrived on.

"Just aim and shoot!" Jim demonstrated.

"Who the hell is shooting at us?"

Jim blinked. "Does it matter? Bad guys. Readers couldn't care less exactly who." He clamped a hand on Bones' shoulder. "So fire away, before the bad guys win." He let out a war cry as he stood and dove behind another recliner, phaser firing the whole time.

Bones cracked a smile. He had to admit, the excitement was contagious. But they did have other genres to inspire before the day was out.

"Meet me in the next section," he yelled. Jim continued firing his phaser, but he gave a determined nod and jerked his head in the direction of the nearest one. Bones ran for it, knowing Jim would cover him while he did so. If he could just make it to the edge… he wove between chairs, intent writers never looking up from their stories.

_Don't mind me_, he felt like saying. _Just a major part of your work is all. _

The sounds of a phaser battle faded behind him as he crossed the genre line.

"Damn," he cursed, stumbling and hitting the ground hard. But instead of the warehouse floor, it was actual _dirt_. What the… was that sunlight on his shoulders?

The rhythmic thud of boots with spurs made Bones behind him in confusion. Boots, chaps, a dirt-covered button-down… Jim smiled down at him from beneath a cowboy hat and offered a hand. "What?" he asked with a smooth drawl as Bones took it. "Ain't you ever heard of cowboys and aliens, doc?"

Bones stood and dusted himself off, realizing he too wore the clothes of a cowboy. "I'd heard of the Western section, but I'd never stumbled into it." His drawl was involuntarily strong. "Where are all the writers?" The town around them appeared to be abandoned.

"Yeah," Jim gazed around. "It ain't the most popular of genres. Maybe if we visited more often."

Bones shrugged, tucking his thumbs into his pants. "It just... doesn't feel right. Where's the ship? The officers, the sliding doors, the multi-level chess boards, the food replicators, the keypads, everything that makes us-"

"All right, all right," Jim's drawl cut him off. He spat a glob of chewing tobacco. "So we'll leave this section. Ain't much life here anyway. I reckon if we go back the way we came…"

The toll of a bell cut him off. Bones looked up.

"Damn," he muttered. "High noon."

"So?" Jim stared into the sun.

"Shootouts an' stuff."

Jim shot him a glance. "An' stuff?"

"Give me a break, son," Bones replied. "I don't spend much time here." He wiped his brow with the bandanna from his back pocket.

The swinging doors of the saloon flew forward. A rough lookin' rustler trudged out into the street. By his unsteady swagger, he'd dipped into the whiskey stores.

Bones barely had time to smirk at Jim before he was dragging the kid out of the street and into the nearest doorway. Being a shootout victim wasn't on his to-do list, no matter how many (or few) writers needed their western inspiration.

"Wait, I wanna watch-" Jim sputtered as darkness surrounded them.

"You can't watch anything if you're sprawled on the ground," Bones reminded him. He realized his drawl was gone and his boots were no longer jingling. They must have left the Western section. But where were they now?

Jim seemed to be wondering the same thing. "I have my money on Suspense. Nothing's happening. I hear typing though, which means we're surrounded by writers." Then, "Bones?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"I'm ready to get out of here."

Bones cracked a smile as they continued walking in the dark. "What about all the writers who need inspiration?"

"There's a movie for that."

They emerged into the shadowed corner of the warehouse. Writers were still typing and scrawling away when Bones lead them out the doors.

Covered with dirt and grime, they were met on the _USS Enterprise _launch pad by exhausted comrades who'd also visited fan fiction factories. Scotty was dusted with melting snow. Uhura and Spock were drenched in some kind of green slime. Sulu and Chekov were covered in star dust or glitter. And when they all came together, they couldn't help but laugh at the state of themselves.

For they had explored the world of fan fiction. Where anything could happen.

END.

* * *

_Review please. Let me know what you think. It's a bit out there, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone. I wanted to pull the characters out of the movie for once and let them be a bit more self-aware._


End file.
